


Surveillance and Submission

by Sexxica



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angry John, BDSM, Belts, Biting, Blow Jobs, Deepthroating, Dom/sub, Dominance, F/M, Gay Sex, Hair-pulling, Light Bondage, M/M, Masochism, Mildly Dubious Consent, Minor Violence, Oral Sex, POV John Watson, POV Sherlock Holmes, Rough Sex, Roughness, Sadism, Spanking, Sub Sherlock, Top John, Vaginal Sex, Video Cameras, Violence, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-30
Updated: 2013-12-20
Packaged: 2017-12-30 22:38:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1024219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sexxica/pseuds/Sexxica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's secret surveillance camera nearly went to waste after John solves a case all on his own.  Luckily John runs into Sarah and brings her back to the hotel room.  Sherlock is just too intrigued to look away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Surveillance

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Discernment of Spirits](https://archiveofourown.org/works/964610) by [merripestin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/merripestin/pseuds/merripestin). 



> Un-beta'd, so please point out any errors you spot and I will happily correct them! 
> 
> Sarah gets a bit used in this even though she doesn't know it, so apologies for that.

**Abort operation. Case closed. Marks in custody. JW**

Sherlock’s mobile pinged with the text from John, followed in a few minutes by two more.

**Ran into Sarah, taking her back to the hotel room. JW**

**DO NOT be there. JW**

Sherlock glared at the texts, supremely disappointed that the trap they had set for the counterfeiter George Marks would now go to waste. And to think, Sherlock had spent all that time renting the adjoining hotel room, picking the lock on the connecting door, and setting up surveillance equipment. John was blindly confident about his ability to face Marks one on one and pull off the con, but Sherlock doubted John’s acting abilities would actually hold up to the task.

So, after John had left, Sherlock had installed the small camera and microphone and sat with his laptop and headset in the adjoining room, all without John’s knowledge, waiting to come to the rescue. He would earn himself at least a “brilliant” from John, maybe even in the heat and rush of the moment their lips would meet like they had that other time. Sherlock reddened slightly at the thought, more because of how frequently he thought about it, analyzed it, got aroused by it, played it over in his mind, than any embarrassment from the act itself. 

Now Sherlock’s slim fingers were rapidly tapping out text messages on his mobile, busily insisting more information from both John and Lestrade. Only Lestrade was responding. It seemed that Marks was indeed in custody, all the appropriate evidence against him acquired, and the case was solved. How boring.

Sherlock sighed and stretched himself out along the hotel bed, texting John for the fourth time demanding how he had seemed to wrap things up so neatly. Still John didn’t respond, and Sherlock was starting to feel rather cross about the whole situation. His evening was soundly ruined not only by John’s proactive case solving, but also the stab of jealousy that it would be Sarah, not him to revel in John’s post-case high.

He was just about to pack away his headphones and laptop when he heard a door open and John’s distinctive chuckle. Sherlock could picture every detail of John’s grin as his laughter filtered in through the headphones. Sherlock loved to make john grin like that.

“You know … you know this is just tonight right? I mean …” Sarah’s voice came through clearly on the headphones.

“Yeah of course. Of course. It’s fine.” John said through a forced smile. Sherlock liked Sarah even less now, which was really something of an achievement.

Sherlock heard them kissing, all soft sighs and dull wet noises, but as they hadn’t made it past the small entryway to the hotel room, he couldn’t yet see the couple. He had managed to hide the camera up in the curtain rod, giving him a good overview of the entire room, minus the bathroom and short entryway.

Next came a rustle of clothing, coats being shed and shoes toed off, and then John appeared on the laptop screen, pulling Sarah into the room by her hand. Until that moment this had just been simple eavesdropping, but now that Sherlock could clearly see John (handsome, fascinating John), and Sarah (boring, clearly not right for John in the least), he had a brief crisis of conscience.

Sherlock’s curiosity won the relatively easy battle against the moral implications of spying on John. After all, he could easily delete the video and John would be none the wiser. Sherlock settled in on the hotel bed to watch.

The video was black and white, slightly grainy, but not terrible given the size of the hidden camera. He could clearly see John in a well-fitted suit that had been his disguise for what was supposed to be their trap, and Sarah in a tight dress, showing off her arms and cleavage. Clearly she had been out looking for something just like this when she had unexpectedly run into John.

John and Sarah were embracing now, lips locked together and hands wandering over each others bodies. John had turned Sarah so that her back was to both the bed and the hidden camera, his hands roaming over her. He began to kiss down her neck into the crook of her shoulder, giving Sherlock a relatively clear view of John’s face, especially when John pulled Sarah into a tight hug, resting his chin on her shoulder.

Sherlock’s breath caught in his throat, and his heart stopped briefly as John seemed to stare directly into the lens of the camera - right at Sherlock through the laptop screen. “No,” Sherlock thought, “there’s no way that John can see it. No way he knows the camera’s there.” Sherlock’s heart resumed beating, although at an elevated rate when John began his attentions on Sarah’s neck again, eliciting soft moans from her. 

Sherlock watched intently, wondering if John would look into the camera again, or if it was just a startling coincidence. Surely John wouldn’t continue if he knew about the camera? Even if he doubted Sherlock was actively watching from the next room, John’s sense of propriety wouldn’t allow such intimacy to filmed, right?

Sherlock’s mind churned, searching for any evidence that one John Watson had any exhibitionist tendencies. It all came up blank, and up until that one moment, Sherlock had thought John’s proclivities to be utterly normal for a mostly heterosexual man. Sure he had a dominant streak that hadn’t escaped Sherlock’s notice, and there had been that kiss that they had never spoken of, but other than that there was nothing. Likely John had chalked up the kiss as a momentary lapse in judgement, misplaced excitement after a thrilling chase, and although that fact disappointed Sherlock, that it had happened at all had been enough to sustain him.

John’s suit jacket was on the floor now, his tie pulled off, and Sarah was working on his shirt buttons, planting kisses along his neck and collarbones. Then it happened again. As Sarah bent to place a kiss on John’s chest, his eyes locked with the camera and Sherlock could just make out a vague smirk on John’s face as he twined his fingers into Sarah’s hair.

Sherlock bent his knees up into himself, his breath now permanently caught, and his heart beating wildly against his ribcage. He couldn’t stop watching, nor could he stop his thoughts from screaming out about how he wished it was him with John. He briefly considered barging into the next room, but no, that kind of intrusion would likely only infuriate John. 

John, now bare from the waist up, had Sarah with her back to him, both facing the camera as John slid his hand into the front of her dress, his other arm wrapped around her waist, holding her tightly into him. John was kissing and nibbling on her neck as he fondled her breasts inside her dress. Sarah’s head lolled to the side to allow him access, and let out a series of moans. 

John undid the zip on the back of Sarah’s dress, pushing it off her shoulders and letting it puddle around her feet, revealing her presumably black pants and bra, although on the black and white video streaming on the laptop, they were just as likely to be red. John’s hand slipped inside the pants, regardless of their colour, and Sherlock heard him groan into Sarah’s neck. Hearing that groan made Sherlock’s spine tingle.

Sarah writhed against John, her head falling back on his shoulder as John’s hands explored her body. Evidently he was doing a good job of it judging from the plentiful sighs and short moans that Sarah was making.

Sherlock watched John’s hand move rhythmically under the fabric of Sarah’s pants. He watched as John’s other hand pulled down the cups of her bra, revealing the dark patches of her nipples that John proceeded to pay special attention to. He listened to Sarah’s pleased noises and watched John lick and kiss all along her neck and shoulders. He watched and listened with a growing jealousy and a niggling suspicion that John did indeed know about the camera, yet was proceeding anyway. Not even Sherlock could establish a reason for this though.

John removed his hand from Sarah’s pants, but let it linger on her hip as his other hand slid down to grip the opposite side. John pulled Sarah’s hips back into what Sherlock presumed was his growing erection based on John’s deep groan which made Sherlock’s own cock twitch inside his trousers. John then pushed Sarah’s knickers down her thighs to join her dress on the floor. Her bra was next, and once Sarah was completely naked, John wrapped his hands around her waist and guided her up onto the hotel bed. 

Sarah eased herself back onto the pillows and John climbed up between her legs, planting his hands on either side of her head and dipping down to kiss her mouth. From this angle Sherlock could see the tautness in John’s back and shoulders - he could see the strength in them and the dark patch of uneven flesh marking his left shoulder. 

The contrast of Sarah’s white legs bordering John’s black trousers was the most obscene part of this view, and with the rest of Sarah’s body obscured by John’s solid build, it was easy for Sherlock to put himself in her place. Sherlock bit back a moan as he imagined John poised over him like that, his own pale legs on either side of those dark trousers. Sarah chose just that moment to ruin Sherlock’s fantasy by wrapping her slim arms up around John’s back. Sherlock scowled at the laptop.

Sarah caressed John’s naked back and shoulders as he moved down her body, planting kisses, stopping to lick and suck on her nipples which elicited some high pitched moans from Sarah. She raked her fingers through John’s cropped hair, encouraging his downward trajectory. John made his way down over her stomach and hips until his head was between Sarah’s thighs and she pressed her head back into the pillows as John put his tongue to work. 

All Sherlock could see was Sarah squirming, and her hands clutching the sheets on either side of her as John’s head bobbed slightly between her spread legs. She tossed her head back and forth and made a number of unintelligible moans while John held her thighs firmly. John continued until Sarah was panting and dishevelled, at which point he made his way back up her body to her mouth.

Sherlock listened as John huskily breathed “I want to fuck you from behind” in Sarah’s ear before he climbed off the bed. Again, Sherlock barely suppressed a groan on hearing John’s voice. John stood in full view of the camera as he unbuckled his belt, undid the button and zip on his trousers and pushed them off his hips. Sherlock licked his lips and shifted on his bed, eyes fixed on the black and white image on the laptop screen. John’s erection was clearly outlined in his tight pants (even over the imperfect video stream) and Sherlock stared, transfixed. 

John hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his pants, stretching the elastic out as he pulled them off, freeing his sizeable erection. Sherlock bit back a groan, still afraid his voice would carry to the next room, and shifted again on the hotel bed, unable to get comfortable - especially with his erection straining and desperately hard inside his trousers. Sherlock refused to touch himself, not because he didn’t want to, but because if John found out about the camera, Sherlock at least didn’t want to have to lie about what he was doing while he watched.

John’s heavy cock bobbed as he made his way back up onto the bed and Sherlock realized he had ceased breathing some time ago. He released the stale air in his lungs as he watched John position Sarah on all fours on the bed and knelt behind her. Sarah buried her face in the pillows as John fondled her arse, making an appreciative moan and giving his cock a few tugs. 

John held on to Sarah’s hip with one hand as he guided himself inside her with the other. Sarah let out a long, muffled moan, and John took a sharp, hissed intake of breath as he sheathed himself inside her. John held still for a moment, gripping her hips and undoubtedly enjoying the heat and snugness around him before he began to move his hips. 

John fucked Sarah slowly at first, nearly pulling himself entirely out of her before gliding fully back inside and unwittingly driving Sherlock entirely mad in the next room. Sarah squirmed and moaned, and John was starting to breathe heavily. Sherlock watched and listened intently. It had been some time since John had looked directly into the camera and Sherlock wasn’t entirely sure whether he wanted the first two instances to be strange coincidence, or if he was wishing for confirmation of his suspicions. 

On the screen John continued to thrust away into Sarah, deliberately adding speed and strength with each advance. Along with his ragged breaths, John was beginning to exhale a string of senseless curses, and Sarah followed along with a series of “Oh gods” that eventually crescendoed in what was clearly an orgasm.

John did not let up though, in fact he increased his pace and moved one hand from Sarah’s hip up to her shoulder, holding her into the pillows. He fucked her hard and fast and Sherlock felt the heat rise up in his face as he watched. God, he wanted John to hold him down and have his way with him like that.

Then, Sherlock watched as John turned his head, looking over his shoulder and directly into the camera once more. Sherlock’s heart clenched in a mix of fear, shame, and utter arousal as he essentially locked eyes with John as he mercilessly fucked Sarah into the sheets. Sherlock swallowed hard, unable to look away from John’s eyes on the screen.

Finally it was John who looked away, turning his attention back to Sarah as he quickly pulled out of her and gave his thick cock a few hard tugs before cumming all over her back with a long groan. John’s noises, and the sight of him stroking his fat cock was nearly more than Sherlock could take. He bit his fist and tugged on a handful of his hair to silence the moans he could feel rising involuntarily up from his throat.

John stretched over to the bedside table, offering Sarah the tissues to clean herself up. She turned around to face him, kissing him on the mouth as she fumblingly wiped her back. “That was just what I needed,” Sarah sighed, giving John a quick embrace and another kiss.

“Glad to be of service.” John smiled back at her.

“Would … would you be terribly disappointed if I took off? I’ve got an early shift, and.”

“It’s fine.” John cut her off, and it seemed to Sherlock that he actually meant it.

Sherlock watched as John pulled a robe on and Sarah gathered her discarded clothes up from the floor. She got dressed in the bathroom, leaving John alone on the screen, sitting on the edge of the bed, back to the camera. Sherlock cursed the robe for depriving him a view of John’s bare back and the chance to admire the musculature of his broad shoulders, even if it was through a less than satisfactory video feed.

As the sound of running water filtered through the headphones, Sherlock watched John rise from the bed and gather up his own discarded clothes, depositing them on a chair. John then paced slowly next to the bed, waiting to see Sarah off. Eventually Sherlock heard, but didn’t see the bathroom door open, and John walked out of the cameras view. There were some customary awkward goodnight’s said and then Sherlock heard the door to the hotel room click shut.

Sherlock expected John to go into the bathroom for a shower, and was surprised when instead he walked back into the room, sat on the end of the bed with his arms crossed, eyes fixed on the floor, and let out a loud sigh.

One, two, three minutes ticked by with John hardly moving. Sherlock worried briefly if the video had frozen, but the movement of John’s shoulders while he breathed confirmed the feeds functionality. “What is he doing?” Sherlock wondered. John’s encounter with Sarah had surely not been interesting enough to require this much thought afterward, had it?

Sherlock was still puzzling over John’s behaviour when suddenly John’s back straightened, he uncrossed his arms and rested his balled up hands on his knees and took a deep breath. “Sherlock.” John’s stern voice came through clearly on the headphones.

Sherlock started at the sound of his name being called. His heart beat unbearably fast and hard against his ribs, but he didn’t move an inch. His mind moved at lightning speed though, going over all his options nearly simultaneously. He decided that his best was to not do anything at all. There was no way that John knew for sure that Sherlock was not only watching, but in the very next room. 

So Sherlock waited, and he watched John on the laptop. Only another minute passed before John spoke again. “Sherlock. In here. Now.” John hadn’t raised his voice, but his tone was rigid and commanding. Sherlock swallowed hard. “I said now, Sherlock.” John demanded, snapping his face toward the camera.

Sherlock hesitated momentarily, then removed his headphones and slipped off the bed - clearly he was going to have to have this confrontation with John whether he wanted to or not. He smoothed out his shirt and trousers, realizing belatedly that he was still half hard inside of them. In two strides he was at the door joining the rooms, and with a quick intake of breath, he turned the handle and came face to face with one John Watson looking up at him from his spot on the bed, and savagely, cooly angry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Follow me on Tumblr!](http://thegeekcooks.tumblr.com/)


	2. Surveillent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Follow me on Tumblr!](http://thegeekcooks.tumblr.com/)

John was leaning up against a patrol car in front of the restaurant where Lestrade and his team were busily putting the counterfeiter George Marks in custody.  As it turned out, Marks wasn’t quite as clever when you got a couple drinks into him, and he all but confessed to an unrelated crime as John stealthily recorded the conversation on a small pocket recorder.  He had called Lestrade in when Marks had nipped off to the loo, and everything was wrapped up neatly in no time at all, especially given all the evidence on Marks mobile.

 John knew that Sherlock would be disappointed that he had missed it, but Marks knew what Sherlock looked like, so John had been sent in as a fake buyer.  John was supposed to meet Marks at the restaurant, then bring him directly back to a hotel room John had booked for the night and confront him with his own fakes, recording the exchange.  But Marks had insisted they eat a meal together first, and John obliged, not wanting to seem too eager to close what was meant to look like a legitimate deal.

 John was texting Sherlock that the case had been closed, and that Sherlock would no longer need to be waiting in the hotel lobby for John’s signal to come up to the room, when he heard someone call his name.  He looked up to see Sarah and gave her a broad grin.  “Fancy meeting you here.”

 “What’s going on?” Sarah asked, sweeping a hand at the patrol cars and officers milling about as they shuffled Marks into the back of a car.

 “Oh you know, just an average Monday night.” John chuckled, trying not to look too long at the rather low cut on Sarah’s dress.

 “Where’s Sherlock?” Sarah asked, noticing the distinct lack of tall, dark, and overbearing that usually accompanied John.

 “Uhh he’s, he’s at home.  This one was all mine.”  John said, shifting slightly on his feet.

 “Really?  Well Dr. Watson, I must say I’m impressed.” Sarah smiled and tucked her hair behind her ear.

 “Ah, it was nothing.” John said humbly. “What are you doing out in this end of town?”

 “I was going to meet a couple girlfriends for a drink, but I could be persuaded to cancel.” Sarah said coyly, and John got the message loud and clear.  

 “You know, I’ve got a hotel room for the night.  I was supposed to bring the baddy back there, but things got wrapped up a bit quicker than expected.” John shrugged and chuckled lightly.

 Sarah toyed with her hair again and replied, “Sounds perfect, shall we get a cab?”

 He certainly wasn’t going to say no to a bit of action, especially since the last he’d gotten was … oh god.  Last month after that insane chase through the streets of London, he and Sherlock had actually kissed. John had desperately tried to get that kiss out of his head, but he couldn’t.  Honestly, he was starting to get a bit obsessed with his flatmate, watching him intently, trying to figure out if there was anything … _more_ … going on there.

 He couldn’t really decide whether it would be a bad thing or not if the kiss had meant anything to Sherlock.  Of course John was attracted to the man, it was basically impossible not to be with his high cheekbones and perfect, plush lips, what he doubted was the other man’s tastes, or lack thereof.  As far as John knew, Sherlock had never been attracted to anyone.  

 That single kiss, which neither of them had really initiated, had sparked a kind of hope in John that maybe, just maybe Sherlock was interested in something more.  It had also sparked a series of increasingly intense fantasies about that slender man that John hoped were out of sheer sexual frustration.  Hence, his willingness to get back with Sarah, however briefly.

 It was short cab ride to the hotel, and John took a moment to text Sherlock that he was taking Sarah back there, and that he was most certainly not to make an appearance - that was the very last thing John needed.  Sarah texted her apologies to her friends.

 John and Sarah chatted pleasantly all the way up to the room, and John could feel his mobile vibrating in his pocket every few minutes.  That would be Sherlock asking why his evening had been ruined.  He refused to answer.  He wanted to focus on Sarah and only Sarah and drive Sherlock and the heat of that kiss as far out of his mind as was possible.

 He led Sarah into the room, chuckling at a joke she had made, when he noticed it.  The room wasn’t as he had left it earlier.  The fakes that he was meant to confront Marks with were still all where they should be, but something was … off.  It took him a moment before he realized that it was the curtains.  It was slight, but they were definitely not as he had left them.  It had been impossible to spend all of his time with Sherlock Holmes and not pick up a certain knack for observation.  

 Obviously Sherlock had been in here, but what had he done? Then he remembered it - the spy camera and mics that he had seen on the kitchen table in the flat only a few days ago.  Of course Sherlock had bugged the room.  Now that he knew what he was looking for, John quickly spotted the small black camera high up in the curtains, angled to get a view of the main room, but likely couldn’t see as far as the entryway.  

 John seethed inwardly.  Why hadn’t Sherlock just told him he wanted to bug the room? That arrogant sod! Did he not trust John at all?

 John’s furious train of thought was interrupted by Sarah saying something about this being only a one night stand.  He responded with a vague “Yes, fine” through his teeth gritted in anger at Sherlock’s obtuseness.  

 John looked at Sarah, all smiles and willingness, and leaned in to kiss her.  She eagerly kissed him back, tightening their embrace and starting to tug off John’s coat.  John realized that his mobile hadn’t buzzed against his thigh since they had stepped into the room.  Sherlock never stopped texting until John either answered him, or showed up wherever Sherlock was.

 “Wherever Sherlock was,” John’s mind repeated as he continued to kiss Sarah.  That. Utter. Git. He wasn’t just recording the room, we was _watching_ , and if John recalled the spy camera, the wireless would be spotty at best and Sherlock would have to be very nearby to get a consistent feed. Probably, no, certainly in the adjoining room so that he could leap in and confront Marks himself.  That would have been how Sherlock got in the room too - the deadbolt between the rooms would have been much easier to slip than the card readers on the main door.

 John tried to control his rage and figure out just what he was supposed to do with Sarah now that Sherlock was essentially a third wheel on their date -- again.  Option one: send her home. Option two: take her back to Baker Street and hope that Sherlock didn’t beat them there. Option three: go through with it anyway.

 It wasn’t fair to Sarah, god knows John knew that, but nothing about their relationship had ever been fair to Sarah.  But, John reasoned that she would never find out.  He let his jacket slip from his shoulders and started to push hers off as well, both stepping out of their shoes.

 John led Sarah nearer the bed, in full view of the camera, and took her in his arms, trying to enjoy the womanly curves of her body and her breasts pressing against his chest.  He expected Sherlock to barge in at any moment, interrupt them, scold John for solving the case too early.  That, or his mobile to vibrate in his pocket to indicate that Sherlock had stopped watching.

 Neither came.

 John had avoided looking directly at the camera now that they were surely in view of it, but he desperately wanted to get Sherlock’s attention.  Maybe he wanted to frighten him out of watching, or dare him to continue; John wasn’t sure himself, and his anger with Sherlock was getting confused with his growing arousal.

 John kissed his way down Sarah’s neck, making her sigh before he wrapped his arms tightly around her, pulling her into an embrace while he looked over her shoulder directly into the camera’s lens.  He held eye contact only for a moment, not wanting Sarah to be in any way suspicious of his actions.

 He resumed his attentions on her neck and was rewarded with a series of moans.  Sarah helped John out of his suit jacket, letting it fall on the floor, and he quickly tugged off his tie.  All the while he was expecting some sign of Sherlock.  How far would he let this go?

 As soon as the question had crossed his mind he was distracted by Sarah busily unbuttoning his shirt and tonguing along his collarbones and the ache in his groin intensified.  If Sherlock was going to back down, now was the time, and John was going to give him one last chance.  When Sarah’s head was bent placing kisses on John’s chest, he took the opportunity to look into the camera again, giving Sherlock a wicked “I dare you” smirk as he filled his fingers with Sarah’s long hair.  

 Nothing! No mobile buzzing in his pocket, no elegant limbs striding through the door, and not even a sound from the adjoining room.  “Fine!” John thought as Sarah gleefully liberated him of his shirt, her eyes hovering for a moment over his scar. “You want a show, Sherlock Holmes? I’ll give you one!” John’s mind clouded over with a heady mix of resentment and lust.

 He gave Sarah a hard kiss on the mouth before turning her around, pressing her back into his front.  He put a hand down the front of her dress as he continued to kiss and nibble on her neck.  She moaned as John fondled her breasts and she happily pressed herself into his warm body.

 John leaned back just enough to undo the zip on the back of Sarah’s dress, pushing the straps off her shoulders and letting it fall.  He pulled her back into him with a hand on her hip that quickly dipped into her pants.  John groaned as his fingers encountered the wetness there, and Sarah spread her legs for him, allowing him access to glide his middle finger firmly up and down her slit.  After spreading her wetness, John focused on her clit as he pressed his mouth into her shoulder and reached around to tug her bra down.

 John pressed his hips forward, grinding his clothed erection against Sarah’s arse and moaning low in her ear with the friction.  He rubbed her slick clit back and forth as his other hand explored her now exposed nipples.  John pinched and tugged lightly on Sarah’s nipples, making her moan and buck against his hand between her legs.

 John picked up the pace, rubbing Sarah’s clit quickly as he kissed her neck and she moaned between ragged breaths.  Soon her whole body shuddered into him and John let his hand linger just a moment longer between her legs.  

He was trying so hard to be focused on Sarah, on enjoying her body and her alluring moans, but John knew he wasn’t even half present.  His anger at Sherlock was still central in his mind and it was getting worse every minute his mobile refused to buzz, forcing John to think about Sherlock in the next room watching everything and doing nothing about it.

 At this point, John wasn’t sure what it was exactly he wanted Sherlock to do about whatever ‘it’ was, but nothing was the wrong answer and John was _furious_ about it.  He didn’t want to give Sherlock the satisfaction of looking in the camera anymore, but it was hard not to.  Something in John desperately wanted to see Sherlock’s face with its shocked, scandalized, or, god forbid, aroused expression as John locked eyes with the camera.

 John moved both his hands to Sarah’s hips, grinding hard against her arse, making himself groan, before he pushed her knickers off, then quickly undid her bra.  John wanted to distract himself from the camera, so he guided Sarah up onto the bed to get in a position where he would have to make an effort to look at the damned thing.

 Sarah laid back against the pillows, and John knelt between her legs, back now firmly to the camera, while he admired Sarah’s naked body.  The curve of her waist, her soft thighs, her breasts topped with pink nipples that perfectly matched the shade of her lips - John took it all in and tried, oh he tried, not to let the intrusive visions of Sherlock, just as naked, just as beneath him violate his thoughts.  He hoped the frustrated sigh that rushed from his lungs would be interpreted by Sarah as appreciative, not an involuntary reaction to the thoughts of his very male and very not her flatmate.

 John quickly bent down to kiss her hard, and with as much passion as he could muster.  Sarah reached up to run her hands down his back, and John began to work his way down her body with his mouth.  He stopped to suck and lick on each of her nipples, enjoying their firmness against his tongue, and Sarah audibly approved.  Soon he reached his intended destination, and made himself comfortable between her thighs.

 Sarah spread her legs wide for John, and he put his hands on her warm thighs as he started to lick up and down her wet slit.  He wiggled his tongue against her stiff clit, then sucked it gently into his mouth, creating a bit of a vacuum and pulsing the air pressure around it.  Sarah’s hips bucked up into him, and he could see her starting to grab mindlessly at the sheets.  John had always been rather good at this, he smiled to himself.

John used his tongue in all the ways he knew how until Sarah, moaning and breathless, trembled with her orgasm.  John wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and moved back up to Sarah’s mouth to kiss her again.  By this time, John was painfully erect against his trousers and desperately wanted out of them and into Sarah’s willing body.  “I want to fuck you from behind” he whispered in her ear and Sarah grinned her approval.

John got down off the bed and turned toward Sarah, toward the camera up in the curtains.  “What the hell are you doing?” John thought, unsure whether the thought was directed at himself or at Sherlock, undoubtedly still watching.  But, John’s hands were already unbuckling his belt and pushing off his trousers as he tried, with difficulty, to keep his eyes fixed on Sarah, or at least the floor. 

He succeeded in ridding himself of his pants next, and took a deep breath knowing that he now had no secrets from Sherlock.  John wasn’t embarrassed, he knew damn well he had nothing to be ashamed of, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to back down in front of that ridiculously lithe git just because he had to get his kit off. 

John got back up on the bed, positioning Sarah on her knees in front of him as he knelt again between her legs.  John grabbed the flesh of Sarah’s arse firmly, kneading it with his fingers as he slowly stroked his finally free cock.  He moaned at the way her skin gave under his hand and suppressed his urge to spank her hard, leaving a bright red handprint across her arse.  Sarah didn’t much care for any of the rough stuff, and John always respected that.  He gripped Sarah’s hip as he slowly pushed his full length inside of her tight, wet pussy as she moaned into the pillows. 

John moved both his hands to Sarah’s hips as he let her get used to his girth inside her, stretching her considerably.  She felt so tight surrounding his hard cock, John closed his eyes and let himself enjoy the feeling before he started to thrust slowly in and out, drawing back almost completely before pushing back inside of Sarah’s heat and wetness. 

He moved slowly to start, letting Sarah feel all of him gliding slickly inside her before he picked up the pace.  He adjusted the angle of his hips until Sarah was moaning with particular intensity, and kept just that position as he fucked her faster and harder.  He was breathing heavily now, and knew that Sarah was getting close given her mumbling of “oh god” and the fact she was grinding her hips back into him, seeking out the friction.   

Only a few more minutes passed and John felt Sarah’s pussy clamp down around him as she moaned out her orgasm.  He bit his lip and gripped Sarah tightly, desperately holding off on his own release.  Even buried inside Sarah, John couldn’t get Sherlock out of his head, and he decided that he needed one more reckless look into the camera.  John couldn’t possibly gain anything from it, but maybe this time it would shock Sherlock out of his apparent voyeurism.  After all, it was very much to do with sex now. 

John moved his one hand down to press against Sarah’s shoulder, effectively holding her against the pillows where she couldn’t look back at him.  John fucked her hard then, knowing that she wouldn’t mind in her post-orgasmic state, and turned his head to look up into the camera.  The sound of skin on skin was loud, as was John’s ragged breath, and his heart was pounding a little more wildly against his ribs than he really thought it should.   

John locked eyes with the camera for as long as he could, his hips jerking back and forth wildly as he fucked Sarah as hard and fast as he was able.  It wasn’t long though, John had underestimated the effect that looking into the camera would have on him.  Thoughts of Sherlock flooded his sex intoxicated brain and John barely managed to turn back, pull himself out of Sarah and give himself two strokes before he was cumming all over her back.  John closed his eyes and groaned as he came to the thought of Sherlock in the next room stroking himself with his fucking elegant hands while he watched John fuck Sarah. 

John reached over to grab the tissues off the bedside table, handing them to Sarah as she turned around to kiss him, her cheeks flushed and her hair all over the place.  John managed to give her a smile and a bit of wit as she said that was what she needed, but was honestly relieved when she mentioned wanting to leave.   

John went to the wardrobe to pull on a hotel robe as Sarah gathered her things from the floor and went into the washroom to put herself together for the cab ride home.  John sat on the edge of the bed for a bit, before deciding to clear his own clothes off the floor, laying them on a chair instead.  Then John paced the room, waiting both to see Sarah off, and to decide what the hell he was going to do about the Sherlock situation.  He had briefly checked his phone when he moved his trousers and there was still no message from Sherlock. 

Sarah finished in the bathroom and John went into the entranceway to see her off.  She was all smiles and flushed cheeks still, and John was happy that at least her night had been pleasant enough -- as long as she never found out about camera.   

With Sarah gone, John could have a moment relatively to himself to think.  He sat down on the end of the bed, his arms folded and brow furrowed as his mind churned.  Should he just forget about the whole thing?  Get up now, take a shower and head back to 221B like nothing had ever happened? No, John was still too furious and confused about Sherlock’s actions to risk blowing up at him about it in public, or worse, in front of Anderson, next time Sherlock overstepped his bounds.  What, then?   

John heaved a steadying sigh as he straightened up his back and rested his fists on his knees.  This was now or never.  “Sherlock” John called out doing his best to put all of his anger, as calmly as possible into that one word.  Nothing happened, but John had expected this - Sherlock wasn’t usually one for being ordered about.   

John waited for a moment before trying again.  “Sherlock.  In here.  Now.”  he commanded, starting to get a bit impatient.  “I said _now_ , Sherlock!” he demanded, turning to glare icily at the camera so Sherlock would be sure to get the seriousness of the message.   

In a few more breaths John heard the door between the rooms opening and he glared up at Sherlock as he stepped over the threshold. 


	3. Confront

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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In an instant John was up and in Sherlock’s face, an accusatory finger pointing decisively under Sherlock’s chin. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Sherlock?” John questioned, his lips settling into a thin, stern line.

“John, I’m sure I …” Sherlock began, trying to sound flippant and looking anywhere but in John’s face.

“No!” John spat. “No, Sherlock, you do not get to pass this off as gathering data or, a - an experiment!  Jesus, you put a _camera_ in my hotel room.”  John closed his eyes for a moment, running a hand down his face and heaving an exasperated sigh.  Sherlock saw his tongue flick out over his lips and tried to ignore the corresponding twinge he felt in his cock.  Sherlock didn’t say anything in response, just avoided John’s eyes and hoped that his wrath would cool off if he simply let John yell.

“You violated my privacy,” John continued, “and god only knows what Sarah would do to both of us if she ever found out. And you know what’s worse, Sherlock?” John asked, looking Sherlock square in the face and realizing that he was still avoiding looking directly at him.  “Look at me when I’m talking to you!” John fumed, grabbing Sherlock’s jaw, his fingers pressing hard enough to both cause pain, and force Sherlock to look right into John’s deep blue eyes.

Sherlock made a small whining noise at John’s touch, his fingers causing flashes of pain along his jaw.  “You know what’s worse?” John repeated, not waiting for or expecting an answer from Sherlock.  “What’s worse is it means you didn’t trust me.” John said quietly, loosening his grip on Sherlock’s face, but not letting go.  

John stared into Sherlock’s eyes, trying hard to see what the inscrutable man might be feeling behind those ever-shifting colours.  “John, please, I …” Sherlock started, then faltered, huffing out a short breath, his eyes downcast again.

John’s rage flared up and his grip on Sherlock’s jaw tightened as he brought his other hand up to Sherlock’s shoulder and slammed the taller man back against the ugly hotel wallpaper, the back of his head making a decided thud.  “You what, Sherlock?” John insisted.  “You didn’t think I’d find out?  Didn’t think I’d _mind_ being spied on? What? Jesus! Just tell me.”

Sherlock fidgeted in John’s sturdy grip, but John only pressed in further - exactly the opposite of what Sherlock wanted right then.  John’s closeness, his fingers digging into Sherlock’s face, the firm press of his other hand on his shoulder, and John’s tongue again making an appearance were fogging Sherlock’s mind.  His heart was beating so loudly he was sure John could hear it, and his blood was busy rushing to fill out other places.

Sherlock swallowed hard, his adam's apple bobbing. “I was concerned for your safety” he finally managed to choke out, his own voice sounding strange in his ears.  He braved looking into John’s eyes, and for a moment he saw them soften, the anger receding around the edges, but it quickly returned.

“You  were concerned for my safety _with Sarah_?”  John clarified.  At first he was touched by Sherlock’s admission, realizing the original intent of the camera, but quickly rethought the actual events of the evening.  John took his hand off Sherlock’s face, wanting the man to be able to speak freely, and moved it instead to his other shoulder to keep him pressed firmly up against the wall.

“I didn’t … intend for that to happen.”  Sherlock hesitatingly answered.  

“No?” John raised an eyebrow at him.  “Even though I distinctly recall sending you a text indicating that was exactly what was going to happen?”  John shook his head.  “It’s not enough for you to be bloody brilliant anymore?  You have to spy on people too just so you can have something to intimidate them with?”  John punctuated his questions by giving Sherlock’s shoulders a hard shake, making the back of his head hit the wall.

Sherlock realized that John was not going to give this up, so he relaxed into the wall and did his best to stop fighting John’s grip and actually look him in the eye.  “It wasn’t like that John.  My aim was not to gather any information.  I didn’t even intend to watch at first but, I … I was simply captivated.”  Sherlock admitted.

John watched a pink blush spread up from Sherlock’s chest where his tight, white shirt was open at the collar, into his cheeks, giving his usual chilly pallor a glow that John had only seen after particularly invigorating cases.  John was decidedly confused now.  “Captivated by Sarah? I thought you hated Sarah?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, squirming in John’s grip again. “Not. My. Area” he managed to breathe out through clenched teeth.  Sherlock was all too aware of his flushed cheeks, his increased heart rate, and the crude, persistent bulge in his trousers.  

John blinked at him, watching Sherlock’s blush deepen.  Then it dawned on John - Sherlock meant him!  “Idiot.” John muttered with a shake of his head, and Sherlock’s eyes snapped back to his.

Sherlock opened his mouth to protest, his brow furrowed, but before he could form a word his mouth was covered with John’s.  Sherlock was momentarily stunned but quickly relaxed into John’s insistent lips, letting his mouth fall open slightly and matching John’s movements.  John pressed himself into Sherlock, one hand wandering up from his shoulder to the back of his neck, pulling Sherlock’s head down so he didn’t have to stretch as far to meet his lips.

Sherlock groaned and John pressed himself in harder, holding Sherlock against the wall as he deepened the kiss, his tongue gaining entry into Sherlock’s mouth.  John could feel Sherlock’s erection pressing into his stomach, realizing why he had been fidgeting so much.  John chased Sherlock’s tongue, enjoying the feel of his smooth lips and the hair curling around his fingers at the back of Sherlock’s neck.  

John bit down on Sherlock’s lower lip, teasing and worrying the flesh as Sherlock seemed to melt against him; well, all of him except what was insistently stiff between them.   John gave a low growl and a sudden tug on Sherlock’s dark curls, forcing his head to the side and exposing an expanse of elegant neck that John immediately set to work on with his mouth.

Sherlock let out an uncharacteristic whine when John pulled his hair, the flash of pain quickly turning into pleasure as John began to lick and kiss his neck.  Sherlock could hardly control his own body anymore, and certainly couldn’t control the sounds escaping his mouth, especially as John bit and sucked a mark into the side of his neck.

Sherlock tried to protest the mark for the sake of propriety, putting his hands up to John’s shoulders and attempting to push him back, but with quick efficiency John grabbed both his wrists and pinned them back to the wall with all of his weight.  “No” John snarled, looking Sherlock straight in the eye.  “I know you want this Sherlock, and god help me, I want it too, but, you are going to behave yourself.  You are going to do _exactly_ as I tell you.  You are going to take everything I have to give, and you are going to like it.  Is that clear?”

John’s commanding tone and iron grip all served to make Sherlock’s head spin, and he could only nod dumbly at the question.  John released one of his wrists, and then his hand was back on Sherlock’s jaw, but gentler this time.  John stared up into Sherlock’s wide pupils, able to see his own reflection in them.  “Words, Sherlock.” John said softly, desperately needing Sherlock’s permission for what he wanted to do so badly.

A bit of the usual brilliance sparked up in Sherlock’s eyes, overcoming the need and hormones flooding his body.  “Yes, John” Sherlock said openly, and John was relieved.  Of course John wanted to ravage Sherlock completely, turn him into a begging mass of sweaty curls and long limbs, but he could only take Sherlock apart piece by piece if all of him was there to begin with.

“Good.  Good”  John repeated, a wicked grin curling up the corners of his mouth, making Sherlock’s knees weak with anticipation.  John rubbed his thumb across Sherlock’s moist, plump lower lip, as he stared intently at it.  Sherlock couldn’t resist sliding his tongue out to meet the tip of John’s thumb, closing his eyes and revelling in the small, intimate taste of John’s flesh.

John pressed his thumb against Sherlock’s tongue, pushing it back past his lips and into his mouth.  Sherlock obligingly closed his lips around John’s digit, enclosing it in the heat and wetness of his mouth as he started to suck.  John moaned appreciatively, moving his thumb back and forth on Sherlock’s tongue, thoroughly enjoying the feel of it as it gave him obscene thoughts about what he was going to do to that beautiful mouth.

John reluctantly withdrew his thumb from Sherlock’s mouth, at the same time letting go of his wrist and placing both his hands on the wall behind Sherlock, caging him in as he captured Sherlock’s lips in a hard kiss.  John pressed his whole body up into Sherlock’s, making him groan deep in his ridiculously tempting throat.  He deepened the kiss, his tongue crowding into Sherlock’s mouth, lips and teeth crushing together.

Sherlock couldn’t help himself, he reached up to run his hands up the front of John’s robe and back down to the tie, fumbling to find the knot.  John grabbed his wrists, and with a swift twist and display of force had both of Sherlock’s wrist behind his back, held fast in one unyielding hand, while the other on Sherlock’s shoulder thrust his front firmly against the wall.  Sherlock knew John was quick, but the brutal efficiency of his movements was shocking and frightfully arousing.

“No” John growled, his breath brushing hot past Sherlock’s ear.  “What did I tell you about behaving yourself, Sherlock? Huh?” John said, moving his hand from Sherlock’s shoulder and placing it on his slender thigh.  John pulled down on Sherlock’s wrists, making his shoulders twinge with pain even as he shuddered at John’s touch.  “I think you’ve taken enough liberties tonight, don’t you?” John whispered huskily.  Sherlock could only let out a strangled groan in response and dig his forehead into the wall because John was slowing drawing his hand up the front of Sherlock’s thigh.

Ever so slowly John moved his hand, enjoying Sherlock’s laboured breathing and the way his entire body was trembling.  Sherlock pressed the side of his head against the wall, looking back over his shoulder and catching a glimpse of the devilish gleam in John’s eyes as his hand finally made contact through far too many layers of clothing.  Sherlock gasped and jerked against John.  John let out a pleased moan.

John palmed Sherlock’s hard cock for only a moment before moving his hand up to his belt, deftly unbuckling it with one hand and pulling it off Sherlock’s slender waist.  Sherlock whined at the loss of John’s hand.  John set to work binding Sherlock’s wrists in their position behind his back with the newly released belt and said calmly, “I don’t think I can trust you to control yourself, Sherlock, so just consider this a preventative measure.”  

John led Sherlock over to the edge of the bed, pushing him gently down to sit on it, his wrists firmly restrained behind his back, wrapped up in the stiff leather of his own belt.  John stood in front of him, ran his fingers through Sherlock’s dark tangle of curls, and Sherlock’s eyelids fluttered shut.  John licked his lips as his gaze raked up and down Sherlock’s body: his pale bare feet, long toes, dark trousers covering his slim legs with the fabric bunching and constricting at his groin, white dress shirt clinging tightly across his chest with the buttons straining, and his face a picture of longing.  

John bent down to place a lingering kiss on Sherlock’s perfect mouth, bringing up the colour in his cheeks again and tugging on his curls.  John pulled back and Sherlock opened his mercurial eyes.  John stared back at him, and uttered one word before giving a final sharp tug on Sherlock’s hair, turning on his heel and striding off into the bathroom.

“ _Stay_.”  John said. 


	4. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Follow me on Tumblr!](http://thegeekcooks.tumblr.com/)

Sherlock listened to John close the bathroom door from his spot on the edge of the hotel room bed.  He shifted slightly, curling and uncurling his toes on the patterned carpet and rolling his shoulders a little to test the bonds on his wrists, but he was careful not to move an inch out of place.  John had told him to “stay”, and although Sherlock was analyzing every possible punishment John could deliver for disobedience (all tempting), he had decided to behave.  Perhaps John was right that he had already “taken enough liberties” for one night.  After all, John had promised that Sherlock would like what John had to give, and Sherlock’s unflagging erection was thus far proving it true. 

He flexed his fingers and felt the leather of his own belt bite into his bony wrists; it felt good, and John’s skillful movements in the moments leading up to his binding had been downright exhilarating.  Sherlock listened to the shower running on the other side of the wall, and pictured John under the warm rush of water, small bar of hotel soap in his hand.  Sherlock groaned and stared up at the ceiling, barely able to grasp that John was so close, undoubtedly naked, and preparing himself just for him.

Sherlock felt keyed up, his skin was hot and he was breathing too quickly and it was all John’s fault.  Why was he taking so long?  Patience was not on the short list of Sherlock’s virtues and he felt as though his mind was going to burn out entirely it was so consumed with thoughts about what John was going to do to him.  He wanted it all.  He would swallow John’s anger if that’s what he wished as long as John kept touching him.  Sherlock knew how wonderful John’s admiration felt, but it was nothing compared to his hands and mouth that made all of him feel white hot and oh so quiet.

His ears perked up when the noise from the shower ceased and his heart thumped expectantly.  “Not much longer now” Sherlock thought as he tried to get his breathing under control which would perhaps stop his heart from beating straight out of his ribcage.  How could John make him feel this way without even being in the room?  John Watson was a mystery that Sherlock sorely wanted to investigate on every front possible.

  
  


*****

 

John closed the bathroom door behind him with a gentle click and quickly steadied himself on the bathroom counter as the entire world shifted dizzyingly around him.  He took a shuddering breath and stared into his reflection.  What had he just done?  Well, he had left Sherlock tied up in the next room for one thing, but more than that he had wrested any control of the situation right out of Sherlock’s hands (quite literally).  And Sherlock had _liked it_ , he’d barely put up any resistance, no argument, no play for power, nothing.

John had been running on pent up rage and more than a little lust, both Sherlock’s fault, and when he finally had the infuriating man in his grip he had just kind of snapped.  Not that he hadn’t done this kind of thing before, he was used to using his authority and had more than once used it in the bedroom.  It was the violence that was a bit new, and he thought a bit not good.  He had had girlfriends who didn’t mind the marks, or a bit of the rough stuff, but the urge to bruise and break was something uniquely brought out in John by Sherlock alone.  It frightened him a little.  It was more frightening though because now he knew that Sherlock would take it, would love it, would beg John for more.

He hadn’t heard a single sound from the bedroom, which meant that Sherlock was doing exactly what he had been told to.  John couldn’t help but smirk at that.  Sherlock Holmes, doing what he was told - ridiculous. 

John turned the shower on and waited for the water to get warm before taking off his robe and stepping in.  He let the warmth wash over him as he thought about what he was going to do.  He knew he couldn’t take too long, couldn’t leave Sherlock all wrapped up and alone, but he knew to the other man even five minutes would feel like an eternity.  An eternity in which Sherlock would undoubtedly analyze every way in which John would or would not make an ideal lover.

John picked up the bar of soap and began to wash, deciding that despite his fears, he had to follow through on this.  He couldn’t have just a taste of Sherlock’s lithe body, knowing how reactive, how utterly pliant he had been beneath John’s hands, and not go back for more.  And god, he had been so fucking hard. 

The shower felt good, relaxing even, and as John carefully scrubbed himself from head to toe he realized he was almost certainly doing it to indulge Sherlock.  The man was generally disgusted whenever John came home smelling of sex and he was starting to realize it was likely the smell of the women that he found truly objectionable.  John would afford Sherlock this one luxury. 

John finished up in the shower and dried himself thoroughly with the soft hotel towels, wrapping one around his waist as he patted down his damp hair and tried to mentally prepare himself for what was about to happen.  John tried to swallow back his darker desires to make Sherlock bleed and beg, and replace them with what he knew they both could deal with.  He dearly didn’t want to hurt Sherlock, not really, he just wanted to see him shattered.


	5. Acquiesce

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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Sherlock was waiting as patiently as he was able, but his right leg had started to shake and he had hung his head to stare decisively at the carpet between his feet, even though it strained his shoulders,making them start to ache.  His mind reeled with anticipation and he repeated John’s instruction over and over to try to ground himself.

It didn’t even register that John had come out of the bathroom and was standing right in front of him until he muttered “fucking gorgeous.”  Sherlock’s head snapped up, and John smirked at him, wearing only a towel slung low across his hips.  Sherlock licked his lips unconsciously, hungrily, his eyes wide and wet staring up at John, taking in every possible detail he could.     

John hadn’t meant to introduce his presence with such admiration, but seeing Sherlock, shoulders straining, wrists bound, head hung so all John could see was his black mop of curls - it was practically intoxicating.  John reached out to run his fingers through that hair, his short nails grazing Sherlock’s scalp, making the bound man virtually purr.         

“Mmm you like that?” John questioned, his voice low, his fingers tangled up in Sherlock’s hair while he stared up at John with his pupils fully blown.

“Yes” Sherlock replied, drawing out the single syllable into a long baritone moan that rumbled up from his chest.

“Good” John responded, bending down to give Sherlock a deep kiss on the mouth while he started to unbutton Sherlock’s crisp white shirt, slowly exposing a pale, smooth expanse of chest.  John reached the end of the buttons and tugged the shirt tails out of Sherlock’s trousers before running his warm hands back up Sherlock’s chest, pushing the dress shirt just off his lean shoulders.

John bent his head to run his tongue along Sherlock’s jutting collarbones, savouring all his angles as he rested his hands on Sherlock’s thighs. John sucked a bruise into Sherlock’s chest, watching his white skin blossom red and purple and feeling Sherlock tremble slightly under him.  He took his time, using his tongue to explore Sherlock’s skin, stopping to tease a nipple here, then wandering back up to nip at Sherlock’s throat.  Sherlock keened and shivered.

John kissed and bit his way up Sherlock’s long neck, stopping to breathe hot against the shell of his ear.  “I want you on your knees” John whispered, taking his hands off Sherlock’s thighs and stepping back to give him room.  Sherlock could see now that John was hard, his erection tenting the towel that was still around his hips.  

A strangled moan caught in Sherlock’s throat as he slipped off the edge of the bed, dropping hard and immediately to his knees in front of John.  John stepped up to him and slipped his foot between Sherlock’s knees, nudging them apart into a wider stance so that the taller man’s head was at just the right level.  Reaching out, John ran his fingers through Sherlock’s hair again, pulling his face forward, pressing his cheek against his towel covered hard on.

Sherlock’s eyelids fluttered shut and he nuzzled his face against John’s hard cock, taking in the smell of hotel laundry, oatmeal soap, and arousal.  John’s fingers wrapped in his curls and turned his face forward, tilting his head up slightly.  Sherlock looked up at John, who was looking down at him with flushed cheeks.  Sherlock spread his lips wide and mouthed John’s erection through the towel, still looking up at John through thick dark lashes and making small, needy moans.  

“Do you want it?” John asked, stroking Sherlock’s hair.  Sherlock nodded and John glowered, giving a hard tug on a handful of Sherlock’s hair, forcing his head all the way back. “Words, Sherlock” John growled.

Sherlock blinked up at John, his scalp radiating pain where John was gripping his hair tightly.  He squirmed in John’s grasp, his mouth hung open but he was either unwilling or incapable of producing the words that John wanted.  Sherlock wasn’t sure which, because as long as John had his hands on him, his mind was filled with a pleasant fog that slowed and quieted all his thoughts.  “No answer?” John prompted, and Sherlock again made no response.

“Fine, if you won’t behave, we’ll do this the hard way” John huffed, reaching down to haul Sherlock up by the armpits, depositing him unceremoniously face down and bent over the edge of the bed.  With his arms still bound Sherlock had little choice but to land heavily on his shoulder and face, bouncing slightly on the bed, before he managed to get his feet under him.

John was quickly behind him and tugging on the belt wrapped around Sherlock’s wrists, freeing them before pulling Sherlock’s dress shirt off and depositing it on the floor.  “Are you at least capable of bending over properly for me, Sherlock?” John chided, and Sherlock moved his stiff arms underneath him, resting his head on his crossed forearms and taking moment to admire the raw looking red marks adorning his wrists.  Shame, if he would have struggled a bit more he could have given himself bruises, maybe even broken skin.  He smelled of leather now.

John took a moment to admire Sherlock bent over the bed, his back bare, shoulder blades sticking out and the contrast of his lily white skin and black trousers.  John put the belt down on the bed next to Sherlock and wrapped his hands around Sherlock’s hips.  Sherlock curved himself up into John’s hands, pushing his arse out, and giving it a pleasingly round shape in his inordinately tight trousers.  

Sliding his hands along the waistband of Sherlock’s trousers, John ventured forward until he reached the fasteners.  Sherlock gasped as John proficiently undid his trousers and in one swift move pulled them and his pants down to his ankles.  He moaned and pressed his forehead into his arms, his straining erection finally free.

John growled at the sight below him, unable to resist his urge to dig his fingers into the firm flesh of Sherlock’s generous arse.  Sherlock moaned and rocked backward as John kneaded his fingers into Sherlock’s skin roughly, then suddenly stopped.  Sherlock was just about to turn his head and protest the lack of contact when one of John’s hands came down in a stinging and forceful slap across Sherlock’s right arse cheek.  

Sherlock fought for his breath as John hastily rained blows down on his tender flesh, turning his entire arse a glowing shade of red and started John breathing heavily.  Each slap brought a blinding speck of light to break through the charming fog in Sherlock’s mind, making bright, clear and oh so wonderful spots of intense pleasure that were writ large on his consciousness as John John John.

John breathed hard, his hand stinging from the ten slaps he gave Sherlock’s arse, but he bet that Sherlock had it worse judging by the colour he had raised from his pale skin.  John paused, not touching Sherlock, and instead giving his own stiff cock a slow squeeze through the towel as he admired Sherlock, exposed and painted red with John’s own hand.

“So, are you ready to ask for what you want, Sherlock?” John rumbled right in Sherlock’s ear, having pressed himself up teasingly into Sherlock’s arse and leant over the other man.  Sherlock moaned, but his lips still declined to do as john asked.  There was a fundamental disconnect in Sherlock’s mind, he couldn’t decide what he wanted more - to finally have John’s cock in his mouth, or take a sound beating for refusing to ask for it.       

“Hmm, that’s too bad” John said, picking up Sherlock’s belt off the bed, running the stiff leather over the palm of his hand.  “And to think,” John continued while taking a small step back, holding the buckle end of the belt in a loose grip and raising his arm up. “You” the belt sliced through the air making contact with Sherlock’s bare back with a distinctive crack. “Were.” _crack_. “Being.” _crack_. “So.” _crack_.  “Good.” _crack_.

John was careful not to hit the same spot twice on Sherlock’s vulnerable flesh, but had instead struck five harsh lines scattered over his pale skin that were quickly swelling up, forming angry red welts.  Sherlock moaned low and long, writhing against the bedspread, utterly lost in how indescribably wonderful it was to have John impress himself on Sherlock’s very flesh.  The burning pain in his back was clearing Sherlock’s head, pinpointing his thoughts again on pleasing John.  He wanted to be good for John, really he did, but he also knew that John was enjoying this as much as he was, maybe even more.

“Anything you want to say?” John asked while lightly, ticklingly running the belt up and down Sherlock’s sides, promising Sherlock so much more if he would finally acquiesce.  John was hard and wanting, but he could play this game longer than Sherlock and both of them knew it.  

“P-please.” Sherlock stuttered in a whisper muffled by his mouth still being pressed against the bed.

“Speak up, Sherlock.” John insisted, now ghosting a touch over one of the pretty stripes on Sherlock’s back.  

Sherlock turned his head, still keeping his position on the bed even though he felt the urge to slip off it and wrap himself around John’s legs to beg his favour.  “Please.” he started out more strongly, but still had a time forcing the words through his brain and out his mouth.  “Please, John. I-I want it.  I want to suck your cock. Please.”  Sherlock let out a rush of breath, the words finally said.

John gave an appreciative moan, Sherlock’s words sending a fresh rush of blood to his groin.  “Good boy, I thought you'd never ask.  On your knees then.”  John directed and Sherlock was more than happy to oblige, pulling himself up off the bed and sinking almost reverently to his knees in front of John, managing to kick off his pants and trousers all the way in the process.

John gazed down at him, one hand on the towel still wrapped around his hips, and the other back on Sherlock’s head, practically petting him while he watched Sherlock gnaw his lower lip, face flushed with longing.  John loosed the towel, letting it fall to the ground and Sherlock had to work to keep his eyelids from fluttering shut.  

Sherlock groaned taking in the sight of John completely naked and right in front of him at last.  His cock was larger than average, thick and fully erect at Sherlock’s lips.  John held Sherlock’s head back with one hand, taking his hard cock in the other and rubbing the head of it all over Sherlock’s perfect, full, and parted lips.  

Sherlock let his mouth drop open more, his tongue covering his bottom teeth, hoping to entice John in further.  Of course John couldn’t resist the vision of Sherlock’s wet mouth, tongue glossy, wriggling, pink and inviting.  John slowly slid the head of his cock over Sherlock’s responsive tongue, letting him feel and taste it, but not close his lips.  John revelled in the sensation, in the look of want on Sherlock’s face, and in the fact that he was going to let him have it.

“Show me what you can do with this fucking wonderful mouth of yours.” John said, emphasizing his words by slowly thrusting his hard cock against Sherlock’s tongue.  Sherlock groaned, long and low in his throat, his eyes closing as he wrapped his lips around John’s cock.  John let his head fall back, his fingers twining tight into Sherlock’s hair as he let out an eager huff of breath.

Sherlock couldn’t even start slow.  He swirled his tongue all around the head, pulling off to lick long wet stripes from John’s fingers - still holding his hard cock like an offering - back up to the tip before attempting to swallow John’s entire length.  Sherlock earned a gasp and stuttering “Oh fuck!” from John as his lips met John’s digits before he pulled back, cheeks hollowing with suction.

“Do that again” John instructed hoarsely, looking down wide-eyed and wretchedly aroused at Sherlock on his knees, cheekbones fiercely defined and those lips wrapped tight around John’s prick.  Sherlock blinked his eyes open in response, looking up at John through his dark curls as he purposefully, slowly, sunk his wet mouth down around John.

John knit both his hands into the back of Sherlock’s hair, gently encouraging him to take more, faster, to swallow John whole.  Sherlock obliged, keeping eye contact the whole time, which thrilled them both to the core.  Soon Sherlock’s nose was pressed into John’s ticklish pubic hair, and John’s cock was bottoming out in Sherlock’s long throat.  

“Jesus” John moaned, holding Sherlock’s mouth flush against himself, enjoying the heat, the wet, that snaking tongue.  Even with all of John nearly cutting off his airflow, that tongue was still pressing up, wriggling against John’s erection.  

Sherlock made a gurgling noise, his need for air growing urgent and his eyes tearing up, his lashes already wet.  John held him just a moment longer before loosening his grip, allowing Sherlock to slide all the way back off his cock.  Sherlock took a shuddering breath, saliva running down his chin and a line of it trailing from the head of John’s cock to his wet and red bottom lip.

Sherlock’s face was pink, and fat tears rolled down his cheeks when he blinked up at John.  “Stunning” John breathed, moving a hand to Sherlock’s cheek, stopping a tear in its tracks with his thumb.  Sherlock’s head swam, his eyes closed, and he cradled his face into that touch, finding warmth and comfort and control in John’s firm, encouraging hand. 

John could hardly believe how gorgeous Sherlock looked with tears streaming down his cheeks and spit glistening on his lips and chin.  He rubbed his thumb back and forth on Sherlock’s face, spreading the salt of his tears as Sherlock all but nuzzled into his palm.  John quirked a smile at this, it made his heart swell to realize how badly Sherlock must need this, must wantthis from him.  John was all too happy to oblige.

Slowly John guided Sherlock’s mouth back onto his cock, and discovered that Sherlock was a quick study with more things than he thought.  Immediately Sherlock worked hard and fast, his head bobbing forward to take nearly all of John, lingering for a moment, then pulling back with delicious suction, all the while his tongue rubbing up with undulating pressure.      

“Fuck, Sherlock,” John groaned twining his fingers back into Sherlock’s hair as he fought to keep his knees steady beneath him.  Sherlock’s mouth was wet and hot and everything John had ever imagined when he was alone in his bed late at night kept awake and aroused by thoughts of just this.  

John gripped tighter onto Sherlock’s hair, making him moan around John’s cock that was filling his mouth entirely, stretching his lips.  John bent his knees as he began to thrust into Sherlock’s mouth, pulling on his dark locks as he did.  

John’s breathing was ragged as he fucked Sherlock’s mouth hard, thrusting straight into the back of his throat making Sherlock choke.  Sherlock raised his hands to steady himself on John’s thighs, struggling to catch quick breaths through his nose between John’s advances as spit ran down his chin and his eyes blurred with tears.

Sherlock choked, he gurgled, he moaned and pawed mindlessly at John’s thighs as his stuttering hips beat out a rhythm on the back of Sherlock’s throat.  His mind was on fire as his throat burned in glorious pain from the rough treatment and his cock twitched desperately each time John slammed again into his mouth.

“Ahh,” John moaned out, clearly on the very edge of orgasm. “Guh...ohh...good boy Sherlock,” John managed to groan out as he gave one final thrust into Sherlock’s mouth.

Sherlock whined and sucked hard, knowing full well what was about to happen as John’s body stilled and stiffened, his cock halfway inside Sherlock’s mouth.  

“Ahh … ohh … fuck Sherlock!” John shouted as he came hard down Sherlock’s welcoming throat, his cock pulsing against his tongue.  Sherlock moaned long and deep, savouring the look of John with his face flushed, chest heaving shuddering breaths as Sherlock’s tongue was coated with John’s hot cum.  

John stood still for a moment before pulling his softening cock out of Sherlock’s mouth.  Still breathing heavily he looked down at Sherlock just in time to see his adam’s apple bob as Sherlock swallowed his cum.  God that was hot, John thought, running his fingers through Sherlock’s hair again, wanting to linger in this perfect moment.

The taste of John nearly overwhelmed Sherlock’s already swamped senses, but he let it sit on his tongue a moment before swallowing then immediately licking his lips to see if he had missed any.  John watched him closely as he slowly slid his tongue over his lips, and Sherlock was sure he must look a mess.  His curls would be wild, face red, mouth and chin wet with spit, and his cheeks would be tracked from the tears that had forced their way out of his eyes to drip off his jaw.  He was still painfully hard too, and undoubtedly leaking precome.

All of this was true, and John took it all in.  Sherlock was fucking gorgeous like this - needy and marked with the pleasure John had taken from his mouth.  John bent down, moving his hands to Sherlock’s arms to help the man to his feet.  Sherlock wobbled a little, his knees red and imprinted with the rough texture of the hotel carpet, but John held him steady.

Sherlock wiped his mouth almost sheepishly on the back of his hand.  “That mouth is just as incredible as I’d always imagined,” John smiled, running his hands up and down Sherlock’s arms before leaning in for a kiss.

“You’ve been such a good boy for me Sherlock,” John said, one of his hands trailing down Sherlock’s chest. “I should probably take care of this,” John wrapped his hand around Sherlock’s aching cock, giving it a slow tug that elicited a sharp gasp from Sherlock as he crumpled against John’s shoulder.

John easily took Sherlock’s weight and carefully backed him up to sit on the edge of the bed.  “Please,” Sherlock pleaded, his voice raw and ragged as much from his own arousal as John’s abuse of his throat, “please John.  I need … I want you to …”

“You want me to what, Sherlock?” John asked, thoroughly enjoying Sherlock in such a desperate state, especially now that his own wasn’t urgent.

“I … John … please.” Sherlock stammered, his brain in a dense and quieting fog once more.  John gave a meaningful glance to the belt that was still on the bed, and Sherlock made a small keening sound in the back of his throat before trying again.  “I … I want you to fuck me … from behind, please.” Sherlock blushed deep red from his chest right up to the tip of his ears - it was glorious.

John smiled, bending down to kiss Sherlock hard on the lips before whispering in his ear: “I’m so glad you’re learning to ask nicely, Sherlock.  Just remember that I won’t hesitate to give you what you need if you start misbehaving again? Is that clear?”

Sherlock let out a strangled groan and started to nod, before quickly remembering to add, “yes, John.”  

“Mmm.  Up on the bed, then, I want to see how you look on all fours.”


	6. Submission

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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Sherlock did as he was told and climbed up on the soft covers of the hotel bed.  Sherlock doing anything he was told was irrationally stimulating for John, even if it was something as simple as putting his mug in the sink, so seeing Sherlock crawl naked, on his hands and knees, into the centre of the bed, just because John had told him to was nearly too much.

Sherlock was so desperate now he would do anything John wanted even for just the promise of release.  He needed him so badly.  Sherlock never realized just how much until John had him begging, his back tender and throat raw from his rough handling.

John watched Sherlock get himself into position, watched the sinews of his arms flex beneath his skin, the supple arch to his spine, the curve of his delicious arse, and his long, thin cock flushed pink and glistening at the tip with precum.  God, he was unbelievably attractive, so lithe and angular but plush in all the right places.  John wanted to ruin him, paint his skin with welts and bruises and bite marks he would struggle to hide.  Maybe he wouldn’t want to hide them.  Maybe John wouldn’t let him.

John climbed up on the bed and knelt behind Sherlock.  He couldn’t keep his hands off Sherlock’s pale skin and he ran his warm palms up to his shoulders and back down to his arse, careful to only lightly brush against the still angry looking red stripes that decorated his back.  Sherlock shuddered under his touch and craved so much more of it.

Sherlock let out a quiet whine and rocked back into John’s hands, making John chuckle lightly.  “So eager.  But you’re just going to have to be patient, now, aren’t you?”  Sherlock groaned quietly in frustration, dropped his head down into the pillows and dug his fingers into the sheets in response.

John sunk his fingers into Sherlock’s arse cheeks, kneading and spreading them apart.  John bent down take some of Sherlock’s skin between his teeth, biting and sucking a bruise into it, making Sherlock moan.  “It’s your own fault, you know.” John teased, and Sherlock only squirmed.  “That fucking mouth of yours was just impossible to resist.”

Sherlock stilled as he felt John spread his arse cheeks, then felt John’s hot breath against him.  He couldn’t help but moan into the pillows.  This was too slow and torturous. Frankly Sherlock preferred the belt over these leisurely caresses, especially given how long John had left him wanting.

John exhaled on Sherlock’s tender flesh, his thumbs spreading him, giving John a perfect view of Sherlock’s puckered hole.  He felt Sherlock tense up slightly as his moist breath brushed against him, but John only dug his fingers in deeper.  His nails made red crescent indentations on Sherlock’s arse, a matching set of four on each cheek.

He took his time, and even though Sherlock had stopped fidgeting, the small, needy noises he was attempting to muffle in the pillows, were all the encouragement John needed.  One more hot puff of breath and John allowed his tongue to slip past his lips and lick a long, slow stripe all the way up Sherlock’s crack.  

Sherlock shuddered.  John’s tongue was so warm and wet and utterly alive against his sensitive skin.  It felt so good but Sherlock wanted so much more.  John was right though, it was his fault that he was having to be patient now.  He couldn’t help it.  He thought again about John’s cock in his mouth so thick and hard and utterly perfect.  What would it feel like when John was finally fucking him into these sheets?  Sherlock groaned at the thought of it as John continued his slow, wet assault on his arse.

John pressed his tongue against Sherlock’s hole, wriggling it and rolling it and gauging Sherlock’s reaction.   Sherlock whimpered and rocked back, obviously wanting him to move faster, but John was having none of it.  Instead he backed off, sitting on his heels and admiring the view: the indents from his nails, the bite mark on his arse cheek, the red stripes decorating his back, and of course his completely erect cock.

Sherlock squirmed at the loss of contact, his breath coming in short gasps and his mind starting to churn again.  He felt so shameless, so vulnerable, but at the same time he still trusted that John would give him a world of pleasure … eventually.  Eventually was starting to feel not nearly close enough though, especially now that even the pleasant fog of John’s touch was clearing the longer he just stared.

Sherlock gave a long and needy whine and John smirked behind him.  “Do you have something to say, Sherlock?” he asked casually, his smile evident in his tone.

“John, please.” Sherlock nearly sobbed.

John reached out and traced a finger around the bite mark he had left on Sherlock’s arse cheek.  “Please what, Sherlock? You know, I’m getting a bit tired of having to ask you to use your words.”  John’s finger trailed down the cleft of Sherlock’s arse to press gently against his puckered hole. “Do you need another lesson in good behaviour?”

Sherlock’s thoughts ground to a halt with John’s intimate touch and his only response was another choked moan.  How could John do this to him - reduce him to a nonverbal state with nothing more than a touch?  

“Really Sherlock,” John tsked at him, “I never imagined that I would ever be annoyed with you for not talking. You’re just full of surprises tonight.”  John reached over and took Sherlock’s leather belt in hand again.  “Now, I want you to count, out loud.  If you don’t count, or you lose count, we will start again. Is that clear?”

John’s voice was firm, commanding, but there was a distinct undertone of caring and certainly one of desire to it.  Sherlock’s cock twitched.  He probably could have cum on the spot, untouched, if John told him to in that authoritative tone.  

Sherlock moaned and John could have sworn he lifted his arse higher in preparation.  John waited a moment as Sherlock’s body trembled and his ribcage swelled as he took a deep breath, then let it out again.  “Yes, John. I understand.” Sherlock said, putting his weight on his hands and lifting his head from the pillows so that John could hear him clearly.

John raised an eyebrow, “hmm good, Sherlock.  Maybe if this lesson sticks we can move on with our evening.”  John slid the thin belt along the palm of his hand, feeling the smooth, stiff texture of the leather and luxuriating in its rich odour.  He took a few deep, slow breaths, letting the anticipation build as much for his own pleasure as for what he hoped was Sherlock’s irritation.   

Sherlock was on all fours, his hands digging into the sheets as he purposefully kept his head from drooping.  He didn’t want to risk John not being able to hear him.  He waited, tense, expectant, his heart beating quickly as he tried to remain still and quiet.  He heard the belt sing through the air before he felt the hot jolt of wondrous pain flare up on his left arse cheek.  “One.”

John brought the belt down again, making a stripe on Sherlock’s right cheek this time.  “T-two.” Sherlock stuttered out.  John said nothing.  He wouldn’t offer Sherlock any praise, any relief, or touch, or encouragement until he completed his punishment.  John continued to alternate sides, the belt whipping through the air to land with resounding _crack_ each time it hit Sherlock’s perfect expanse of white skin.

Sherlock kept counting, his voice rough, often stuttering or caught on a guttural moan, but he didn’t miss a beat. Every stroke and each of Sherlock’s utterances were driving John mad and bringing a flush back up on his chest and cheeks.  He didn’t want to stop.  It was so alluring watching Sherlock’s skin near breaking, red and bruising, and hear his interrupted moans, his desperation.

When Sherlock groaned out “ten,” John stopped himself.  He put the belt aside and admired his work as Sherlock squirmed and panted.  Ten perfect red and rising lines were painted across Sherlock’s arse cheeks and the tops of his thighs.  John moaned, “fucking beautiful, Sherlock.  You did so well.”

Sherlock’s mind was at once on fire and utterly stilled.  The heat and pain from the whipping was stinging, electric, and John’s praise was the perfect balm.   _You did so well_ \- John’s words echoed inside Sherlock’s mind and the corner of his mouth drew up into a small and private smile.

John pitched forward, only triflingly concerned with the welts on Sherlock’s arse as he grabbed handfuls of it, spreading it and immediately pressing his tongue against Sherlock’s puckered hole.  Sherlock practically howled at the sudden burst of both pain and pleasure that all at once flooded his heightened senses.

John pressed, and wiggled his tongue, slowly slipping it inside little by little as Sherlock writhed into him, a constant stream of unintelligible moans filtering out past his lips.  John was shocked that he was starting to get hard again so quickly, but Sherlock had always had a fairly outrageous effect on his libido, and the fact he had followed John’s instructions so perfectly was utterly thrilling.

He dipped his tongue in further, pressing and prying Sherlock open, making way for his fingers and eventually his cock.  John pulled back a moment to admire Sherlock’s arsehole, now pink and shining with John’s saliva.  “I wish we had some lube.” he muttered.

“Trousers pocket.” Sherlock said clearly, and John was slightly taken aback by such a coherent response from the man who only moments ago seemed to have lost all powers of speech.  John hopped down off the bed and rummaged in Sherlock’s discarded black trousers until he found the small bottle.

“Hmm aren’t you a naughty boy.” John grinned as he climbed back up behind Sherlock.

“I … it’s … it’s not what you think.”  Sherlock said sheepishly.  John laughed at that, but let it go.  There was no point arguing Sherlock’s intentions when John had him face down, beaten, and nearly prepared for a very thorough shag.

It was exactly what John thought though.  Sherlock had been carrying around the small bottle of lubricant for a long time now - ever since he realized that the way John made him feel was, in fact, a heady mix of sexual attraction and quite possibly love.  He wanted to be prepared if the situation ever presented itself, and although he hadn’t anticipated _this_ being that situation, he was far from complaining.  

Sherlock whimpered when he heard John pop the cap of the bottle, and again when he felt a cool, slick finger circle around his arsehole.  John moved slowly, he couldn’t be sure how experienced Sherlock was with this, and oh god, what if he wasn’t, at all.  John hadn’t really thought about the fact that Sherlock could very well be a virgin for all he knew.  Lost in his thoughts, John had let his finger still then fall away from Sherlock.

“John?” Sherlocked questioned, looking back over his shoulder to find a look of deep consideration etched across the other man’s face.

“Sherlock, have you … have you ever done this before?”

Sherlock let out a frustrated huff of breath.  He just wanted the glorious lightness and freedom from thought that John’s touches brought, not a conversation about his next to non-existent sexual history.  Hadn’t John figured it out yet?  He was the only one Sherlock wanted, the only one he had ever really wanted at all.  Yes he had experimented with sex for the experience, had done most of the usual things with both sexes, but he had found it all mostly tiresome except for the orgasms.  And orgasms he could do himself with much more efficiency. “John.” Sherlock said, the irritation and need clear in his voice.

“Answer me Sherlock.” John insisted, “I need to know or this stops here.”

Sherlock sighed, “I’m not a virgin in any way, John, but it’s …. it’s been a very long time since I’ve done … anything.”

“Good.  That’s good Sherlock.  Thank you.” John moved up the bed and placed a hand on Sherlock’s cheek, drawing him up onto his knees and pulling Sherlock’s mouth down to cover his own.  John swiped his tongue across Sherlock’s bottom lip before drawing it into his mouth, sucking and nibbling on it.  John wrapped his other arm around Sherlock’s back and slid his fingers, still wet with lube, down Sherlock’s cleft, rubbing against his hole again and making him moan.

“I’m going to fuck you until there isn’t a thought, or a word, or anything in that genius head of yours but my name and the feeling of my cock inside you.”  John murmured into Sherlock’s warm mouth as his fingers teased him.  Sherlock trembled.  John pulled him in closer, Sherlock’s cock pinned against their stomachs as John’s own hardening prick was making its presence known.  “I’m going to make you feel amazing.”

Sherlock groaned deep in his throat, his hips bucking up into John.  John smiled and gave him one more deep kiss before nudging him back down into position and moving behind him.  John slicked his fingers up again, just to be sure, and spread Sherlock’s arse with one hand as he slowly pressed a finger inside Sherlock, sinking it to the first knuckle.  

Sherlock tensed, took a deep breath and relaxed as best he could.  It really had been a long time and John’s thick finger felt invasive at first, burned slightly.  But, John was cautious, caring, and gave Sherlock time to adjust before gradually starting to move his digit.  He twisted and thrust his finger in and out, slowly moving it in deeper until he had it completely buried inside Sherlock’s tight hole.

Slowly John worked his single finger in and out of Sherlock’s arse, specifically avoiding Sherlock’s prostate, for now.  Sherlock writhed under his ministrations, seeking more even as John loosened him enough to add a second finger.   

In and out, John thrust his fingers, gently scissoring them, spreading, loosening, lubricating Sherlock’s tight arsehole.  John’s breathing quickened, as did his pulse, while he watched his fingers disappear into Sherlock - it was captivating and arousing and John couldn’t help but picture his thick cock doing the same.

Sherlock was utterly lost.  He whimpered and moaned, shuddered and bucked against John’s hand without so much as a conscious thought.  Even the bright points of pain from the red marks decorating his skin had faded to a distant light, receding with every thrust of John’s fingers which marked off the minutes before John would finally fuck him.  

John changed the angle of his fingers, brushing against the sensitive bundle of nerves inside Sherlock and the man practically howled.  It was wordless and ungodly and went straight to John’s cock, making it throb and drawing a moan from John’s lips.  John did it again and Sherlock’s whole body shook as another yell tore out from his throat and he choked in a breath.  John smirked behind him while he slowly withdrew his fingers, reaching again for the bottle of lube and this time liberally slicking his hard cock.

Sherlock panted on the bed, his curls sticking to his forehead and his throat parched and raw.  He swallowed and hugged a pillow into himself as he heard John pop open the cap on the lube and the wet sounds that followed.  Sherlock whimpered.  He was more than ready and frankly desperate not only for his own release, but just to feel John inside him.   

Sherlock flexed his spine, raising his arse even higher and presenting such a pretty picture for John.  John took a ragged breath at the view as he stroked his cock.  Sherlock’s arse was so plush, round, and his hole was glistening with lube and ready to take all of John.  The red and angry welts across his arse cheeks, thighs, and back only added to how fucking gorgeous Sherlock looked.  John groaned and reached out one hand to grip Sherlock’s bony hip as he guided himself in with the other.  

Sherlock tensed as the head of John’s cock butted up against him.  It felt much too big - a physical impossibility, but Sherlock just kept breathing through it.  He wanted this too badly and knew that John would take care of him.  John wouldn’t injure him unduly, or make this any more of an unpleasant experience than it at first needed to be.  

John pushed forward slowly.  God Sherlock was tight, and it took what seemed like ages to even get the head of his cock inside.  Sherlock was breathing in shallow, panting breaths, clearly more than a little bit uncomfortable with John’s girth.  “You’re doing so well, Sherlock.”  John sighed, moving his hand over Sherlock’s lower back in a reassuring caress.  “You’re so fucking beautiful, you make me so hard.”

Sherlock moaned in response to John’s praise.  His comforting touch and commendations soothed Sherlock, calmed his breathing and helped him relax enough for John to inch in further.  It burned, but Sherlock was adjusting, accommodating John’s cock.  Soon the stretch began to feel less painful and more pleasant as he was filled with more of John.

It wasn’t long before John was fully seated inside Sherlocks tight arsehole.  He stilled himself, letting Sherlock get used to the feeling and running his hands up and down Sherlock’s supple back.  Sherlock’s arse felt good, so good - unbelievably hot, tight, and slick around John’s hard cock.  “Good boy.” John mumbled under his breath, feeling a bit overwhelmed himself.

Sherlock started to give needy little moans and push back against John, wanting him to start moving.  John fondled Sherlock’s arse one more time before sliding his hands around to grip his hips firmly.  John pulled himself out at a leisurely pace, enjoying the feel of Sherlock’s tightness trying to keep him in.  He backed nearly all the way out before thrusting himself back inside and groaning at the sensation.  “Ah, you feel fantastic.” John moaned and Sherlock gave a high pitched whine and adjusted the angle of his hips, trying to get John’s cock to hit that sweet spot inside of him.

John indulged him, angling his strokes downward and shifting his position until Sherlock practically sobbed out a moan.  “That’s it, Sherlock” John encouraged as he increased the pace of his thrusts, the sound of skin on skin getting louder, audible even over Sherlock’s constant stream of wordless moans.  

Sherlock clutched the sheets, pillows, headboard, clamoring for purchase as John’s thrusts pressed him into the bed as hard as they forced all thoughts from his mind.  He had never felt like this before, so good, so raw.  He was a blank - a moaning, squirming mass of pleasure and heat and if John would just slide his hand around to stroke his cock he could finally cum.  He needed to force the stream of noises coming out of him to make words.

“John!” Sherlock managed to groan.  “Ahh.  Puh … please. Oh!”  John gave a particularly vicious thrust forward, then stayed buried in Sherlock’s arse as he reached up to grab a fistfull of Sherlock’s hair. John tugged, forcing Sherlock’s head back and stretching his long, elegant neck as he was drawn into a more upright position.  Sherlock swallowed hard and whimpered quietly.

“Tell me,” John said forcefully, “I want to hear you say it.  Beg me for it.”  John stilled himself, pulling on Sherlock’s hair when he tried to squirm back against his cock.

Sherlock took an age to process John’s command, but eventually managed to force his mouth into action again.  The bright pain from his scalp helped to center his thoughts.  “Please,” he began, his lower lip quivering and tears welling up in his eyes both from sheer need and the ache where John’s hand fisted in his hair. “I need you to touch me, John.  I-I need to cum, please.  Please.”  His last word was a choked sob.  

John hummed his approval and pushed Sherlock’s head back down into the pillows.  He kept one hand firmly gripping Sherlock’s hip as he began to thrust in earnest, his other hand slipping down and around to give Sherlock what he needed.  

Sherlock groaned and nearly collapsed onto the bed as John wrapped his thick fingers around his hard and leaking cock.  John let his fingers brush over the head, spreading Sherlock’s wetness as he gave him firm, quick strokes.  John tried to match the speed of his thrusts with the strokes of his hand, but Sherlock was sweaty and writhing beneath him and it was getting hard to focus on anything other than the slick tight heat around his cock.

“Come on Sherlock, cum for me.” John said, his breathing hard and voice ragged as he drove himself, again and again, into Sherlock’s arse, brushing against his prostate and making him shiver.  He kept his grip tight on Sherlock’s cock and in only a couple more strokes Sherlock was cumming.

“Ahh John.” Sherlock moaned out long and loud as he finally came.  Everything was a flash of the most intense pleasure and his entire body stiffened and shuddered - it was all far beyond his control.  His muscles spasmed, his breath caught, and his face contorted into a noiseless scream as his cock twitched and cum puddled on the sheets.  He wasn’t a blank anymore, he was filled to the brim with John.  

“Good boy.” John groaned as he felt Sherlock’s hot cum spill over his hand and for a few moments Sherlock’s arsehole seemed to get impossibly tighter around him.  John moved his hand back onto Sherlock’s hip and gave a few more steady thrusts before he brought himself over the edge.  “J-jesus Sherlock.” John stuttered out as he came hard inside Sherlock, filling him with his cum for the second time in one evening.

They were both panting, sweaty and sticky and briefly dead to the world - lost in a haze of pleasure that neither of them had ever thought they would find in each other.  Eventually John slipped his softening cock out of Sherlock and was momentarily transfixed by the sight of his own cum leaking from Sherlock’s reddened arsehole.  John groaned and released Sherlock’s hips, scrubbing a hand over his stubbled face and up through his hair.

Sherlock collapsed face down on the bed now that John wasn’t holding him up any longer.  He was laying in a cold puddle of his own cum, but he couldn’t even bring himself to care.  All of him hurt beautifully.  He felt full and fulfilled and light and still - it was indescribably wonderful.

John flopped down on his back next to Sherlock, his chest still heaving, but his pulse rate was starting to return to normal.  “You are amazing.” John sighed, and Sherlock turned his head to look at him, an unmistakable lopsided grin on his face that John couldn’t help but return.  “Was it … is this … alright?”  John said, unsure exactly how to phrase what was undoubtedly a very important question.  John was fairly certain of the answer, but he could never be sure with Sherlock.

“John.”  Sherlock said, his grin fading, replaced with a frighteningly serious expression that momentarily worried John.  “That was absolutely not _alright_.”  He spat the last word out with disdain.  “That was _exceptional, magnificent, sensational_.  The furthest thing from _alright_. And you, John, you are unutterably fantastic.”

“Oh, well, good then.”  John blushed, inexplicably shy under the weight of Sherlock’s praise.  John rolled over onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow and running his other hand over Sherlock’s sweat sheened back.  He paid close attention to the fading marks there, and the redder ones on his arse cheeks.  Some would bruise, and the skin had split a tiny bit on a couple of them, but there wouldn’t be any long term damage.

John leaned down to give Sherlock a slow and lingering kiss on the mouth.  They both had their breath back, coming down off the high of an evening that was intense in a number of ways.  “Come on,” John said getting up off the bed and fumbling in his pile of clothes to locate his pants, “we should get you home.  A warm bath and some ointment for your back is just what the doctor ordered.”  John grinned over at Sherlock as he lazily watched John from the bed.

“Red, John?” Sherlock asked derisively, eyebrow raised, as he watched John pull his pants on.

“Yeah, it’s Monday.” John smirked back at him.

**Author's Note:**

> [Follow me on Tumblr for sneak peaks and WIP updates!](http://sexxicawrites.tumblr.com/)


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